


Still a Little Bit Yours

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28785144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: Damian broke up with him, out of the blue. It didn’t make any sense. But, as it turns out, there’s a reason why it didn’t.
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Comments: 28
Kudos: 311





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Damian and Jon are in their mid-twenties and no longer go by Robin or Superboy (but not really Batman or Superman either, Tim’s last line is kind of a joke.) Title, and maybe vibe of this part, is based on ‘A Little Bit Yours’ by JP Saxe.

The phone almost slipped from his fingers.

Damian…did Damian just say what he thought he said?

“…What?” He whispered near breathlessly. “W-what did you just say?”

“I said I think we should see other people.” Damian replied calmly. “It would be for the betterment of both of us.”

“Since when?” Jon snapped, anger flaring immediately, but instantly morphing into confusion and sadness. His heart breaking by the second.

They’d been together for three years. Secretly pined after each other for the two years prior to that. Had recently talked about moving in together. Had been _happy_.

Jon was so, so _sure_ they’d been happy.

“Since…recently.” Damian hummed blankly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“And the thought of doing this in person didn’t occur to you in your fucking contemplation?” Jon snapped. “Christ, Damian, we were _just_ talking about getting an apartment!”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. I know this isn’t what you want.” There was a hint of regret in Damian’s voice, but not enough for Jon’s liking, so it only fueled his growing anger further. “I…I don’t know what else to say.”

“Oh, really? Three fucking years and this is _all_ you have to say?” Jon hissed. “I know you’re emotionally constipated, Damian, but…god. This is _low_. Even for _you_.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not!” Jon shouted. A store clerk nearby glanced at him. And that was right, he was in the grocery store. He’d…forgotten. Forgotten the whole world existed, forgot it was collapsing around him by the second, as Damian hummed those words. “Because if you were sorry, you wouldn’t have fucking done it this way in the first place!”

He heard a mother a few aisles down murmur to her children to not use language like that. That people who talked like that were _pathetic_.

“I…I don’t know what your game here is, Damian.” He whispered harshly.

“It’s not a game.” Damian promised. “I respect you too much to play _games_ with you. I’m just trying to be honest.”

“But you don’t love me enough to break up with me in person, apparently.” Jon countered. He closed his eyes, wouldn’t allow the tears to fall. “I…Damian, I’m going to hang up on you right now. I…I don’t want to say something I might regret.”

“That’s fine.” Damian promised. Then again: “I’m sorry, Beloved.”

Jon scoffed and pulled the phone away from his ear. He hit the call end button so hard the screen cracked under his touch.

…Great.

He stood there a moment, trying to take deep, even breaths. But it wasn’t working real well. Each breath was trembling, and it’s like his lungs suddenly didn’t work, couldn’t hold any air.

Did he do something wrong? Did he say something? They’d fought before, all couples do. They were getting better at communication, Damian was coming out of that emotional shell the League of Assassins put him in.

They’d _kissed_ yesterday. Jon had held him in his arms, had kissed his nose and told him how beautiful his smile was. Damian had laughed and held Jon’s face, stroking his thumb along his cheek.

And now…now they were here?

“…Honey?” Jon jumped as a hand gently touched his elbow. He spun to find an old woman in an apron matching the store’s color scheme glancing up at him. “Are you okay?”

The world around him came whooshing back. He was in the middle of the grocery store. He…he was sobbing in the middle of the grocery store. Fat, ugly tears rolling down his face as he practically crushed his phone in his hand.

“Do you need me to call someone?” The woman whispered.

“No, I…” He gently placed his shopping basket – half full of this week’s groceries – on the floor and backed away. He clumsily ran his nose along his sleeve, a trail of snot left in his wake. “I’m alright. I’m…I’m sorry.”

He turned and barely stopped himself from flying out of the store.

~~

Jon laid in bed for two days, exhausting himself racking his brain, trying to figure out what happened, what changed, what he _did_.

He texted Damian, almost exactly twenty-four hours after the fateful call, but the other never answered. Never answered any text Jon sent. Or any call that he drunkenly made after that. Didn’t even give him the knowledge of being left on _read_.

He cried a few times, threw things a few other times.

None of this made any _sense_.

He thought about going over to Gotham. Walking up to the manor and banging on the door until someone answered. Thought about staging a protest until Damian agreed to see him, if the door answerer wasn’t said boyfriend.

… _Ex_ -boyfriend.

Tears welled up in his eyes every time he thought of the term.

 _Ex_. _Boyfriend_.

Jon closed his eyes, buried his face in his pillow. Honestly, he thought they were going to get married. He thought they were going to be together forever. He wasn’t ready to plan a life without Damian, not yet. They were supposed to grow old together, die minutes apart like in the movies. Holding hands until the end.

He didn’t lose Damian to death, like he always thought he would. He didn’t lose Damian to space or assassins or even to grief in the potential loss of Bruce or Dick. He lost Damian because Damian…simply didn’t want him anymore.

God. They weren’t supposed to break up after three years. They weren’t supposed to part ways in their twenties. They weren’t supposed to end things for _no reason_.

He thought he’d gotten pretty good at reading Damian. His ticks, his quirks. What upset him, what didn’t. He thought he was an expert. The world’s leading expert in Damian Wayne.

Apparently he was fooling himself.

He sighed, pressed his face further into the fabric of his pillow. Tried to ignore the memories threatening to overflow. Of he and Damian in this bed. Kissing, cuddling, lazing. Of Jon promising Damian the whole world, and Damian countering with the whole universe instead.

He wondered if he should call Kathy. Or Maya. Hell, one of Damian’s siblings. See if Damian had talked to them, if they had seen any signs. If they knew of anything going on.

He just burrowed under his covers, and kept his eyes closed.

~~

In the end, he didn’t tell anyone about the breakup. Not even his parents. There were intergalactic wars starting and government coups commencing – they had more important things to worry about than their youngest’s love life. And judging by the fact he hadn’t heard from any of the Bats, he had a feeling Damian didn’t mention it to his family either.

Just as well. They were adults. They could handle this as just that. Adults.

So he wallowed in self-pity for a few days, but eventually forced himself up. Took a deep breath, dried his own eyes and distracted himself with continuing his life. Focused on his job, on heroing. The world kept turning, even if he and Damian weren’t together.

His heart hurt less as the days passed on. Not by much, his heart was still utterly shattered after all, but it didn’t hurt as much to inhale. Didn’t hurt as much to smile. Didn’t hurt as much to get a text or a call and it not be Damian.

Damian never answered when Jon tried to contact him. The first few days were understandable, but now the texts were housekeeping. _Do you want your shirt back? I think you left Alfred’s cat treats here. I have a box of your stuff and your apartment key, if you’re in town soon, you can stop by and get it._

And still, like always, nothing. Damian was always stubborn, but now he was just being downright rude. It’d been almost a month now! Surely if someone as emotional as Jon could somewhat start to get over it, someone as stoic as Damian had probably completely forgotten about it by now!

He huffed as he watched a couple walk by the park bench he was sitting on, taking the momentary surge of frustration-induced courage to hit the call button on his (recently fixed) phone and hold it up to his ear.

They wouldn’t have to _talk_. This was just tying up the loose ends. Getting rid of the sentimental things. Getting rid of things that didn’t belong to him. That was all. That was _all_.

But the line didn’t even ring. It went straight to voicemail. And the frustration turned to hurt. Did…did Damian change his number? No, impossible. It still went to Damian’s voicemail, his phone was just off.

But Damian never turned his phone off. No hero did, and especially no one in the Wayne family. They were always on call, even when they shouldn’t be.

So, for Damian’s phone to be off…was he avoiding someone? Avoiding Jon?

He lowered his phone to his lap and stared at it. He was one of those people who put emojis in people’s contact names. Damian’s name was surrounded by the pink, growing heart, and the cat emoji that looked like Alfred.

He didn’t have the strength to take those away. Not yet.

He swallowed the lump in his throat that he didn’t realize was there, and put his phone back in his pocket.

He’ll just ship Damian his shit, then.

~~

He shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have. It’d make him the crazy ex. The ones Taylor Swift wrote songs about.

But at least once a day, he found himself listening. Tapping into his powers and listening for Damian’s heartbeat.

He didn’t do it often while they were together. Mostly because while together they were almost always _together_. Physically. So he could just reach out and hold Damian’s wrist. Put his ear to Damian’s chest. Watch the pulse as it beat along Damian’s neck.

It was a coping mechanism back then, used to calm himself. When the world got too much. When his day was bad. He could just focus on Damian’s heartbeat in any form. Drown the rest of the noise out.

Damian’s heartbeat now sounded far away, but Jon didn’t feel like pinpointing how far. It was slow and even, and that almost made him angry. Damian was calm. Damian was relaxed. Probably sitting at his easel drawing without a care in the world, while here Jon was listening for him like some kind of fucking lost puppy.

Every time he listened, it was slow and steady.

 _Stupid Damian_ , he’d think as he tuned his powers back out, furiously go back to whatever he was doing. _Stupid relationships._

Relationships were overrated. Damian was overrated.

~~

“He _what_?!”

Maya’s shriek had Jon pulling the phone away from his ear with an amused grimace. He laughed as he switched the audio to be on speaker, and absently opened an app on his phone.

(A…dating app.)

“You didn’t know?” Jon hummed. His friend had called to ask some questions on a man she was tracking, someone who rumours said was from another planet. Kathy hadn’t known of the solar system, so she was trying the next best alien. As they talked, something about a crime scene came up, and she asked if Damian could help, if Jon could give him the phone. He had to break the news. “I thought you guys talked like…every day.”

“No way.” Maya scoffed. “Once a month, if that.” Jon could hear the frown in her voice. “And we did talk about a month ago. Maybe a bit longer. He didn’t say anything. In fact, he told me you guys were going to move in together, that he wanted me to plan a trip back to the States for a housewarming party.”

“Well…life comes at you fast, I guess.” Jon chuckled bitterly, remembering that call. He was in the room for that call, dozing in Damian’s arms, half listening to their conversation. He sneered at the choices the app was giving him. None of them were very attractive. “Because about a month ago was when he called it off.”

“Huh.” Maya mumbled. “I’m so sorry, Jon. If I’d had known that’s what he was planning, I would have beat the shit out of him. You were the best thing to ever happen to him, for gods’ sake! What the hell did he willingly throw it all away for?!”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Jon shrugged. This potential match wore a shirt that said Joker’s Biggest Fan on it, and Jon cringed instantly. “He didn’t give a reason. Just said that it was for the betterment of both of us, and that he was sorry.”

“Fucking turd.” Maya sighed. “I’ll call him here in the next few days, and see if he’ll tell me anything.”

“Good luck.” Jon drawled. “He hasn’t answered a single text or phone call since he broke things off. And I don’t know if that’s to just me or everyone.”

“You ask one of his brothers? Which one’s friends with your brother again? Jason?”

“Tim.” Jon corrected. He hesitated on this potential match option. Just stared. It was a woman. Dark hair, tan skin, standing in a desert. She was beautiful. And she reminded him of Damian. “And I haven’t seen or talked to any of them either. No cases have taken me out to Gotham lately.”

The next match had sharp eyes, ones that said they were smarter than everyone else. Cocky. That was like Damian too.

“Eh, they’d probably cover for him anyway. They’re all a bunch of freaks like that.” She grumbled. “Are you…doing okay?”

“I’m fine.” Jon lied, and he knew Maya heard right through it. “Time heals all wounds and all that. Better every day.”

“Oh, Jon…” Maya sighed sympathetically. Jon didn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed at her pity. Not when the next person on the app was standing on a rooftop, flag tied to his neck, blowing gloriously behind him. Looking far too much like every hero persona Damian’s ever been. “Hey – I’ll be back in the States soon. And I promise, I’ll make my first stop coming to see you so we can get drunk and stuff ourselves with pizza and scream about what an asshole Damian is. Okay?”

The next match was posed in the photo in a fencing match. Damian. The next surrounded by Great Danes. Damian. The next playing a violin. Damian. The next wearing a Batman costume at a Halloween party.

Damian.

Damian. Damian. _Damian_.

He sighed and closed the app. Stupid.

“Yeah. That sounds like exactly what I need, Maya.”

“Great. It’s a date.” She paused a moment. “Love you, dude.”

Jon hesitated, because he hadn’t said those words since Damian. Hadn’t thought them. Hadn’t _wanted_ to think them, not for anyone. Not for family, not for friends. Not for a single person in his life. Still _left_ in his life.

“Love you too, Maya.”

~~

Jon wasn’t a dreamer. He didn’t know if it was his Kryptonian side, or just how he was, but he didn’t dream often. And if he did, if he remembered them, it was only flashes. Only later moments of déjà vu. Never full sequences. Never lucid.

But…this.

They were in Kansas, out in one of Pa’s fields, lying among the wheat. Damian was flat against the ground as Jon laid over him, kissing him as hard and deeply as he could. They both had their arms around the other, grips tight and unyielding. Like if one of them let go, the whole world would disappear.

He doesn’t know why, but it was a noise Damian made. A quiet moan, and his fingers digging desperately into Jon’s shoulders that snapped him out of it. Made him realize.

This wasn’t real.

He began to lean back, pulled his arms from Damian’s shoulders to steady himself. Damian shifted too, but only to hold Jon’s face, to try and chase his lips.

“No, I…” Jon stuttered, his body wanting to do just that. Dive back in and devour Damian whole. But his mind didn’t let him, forced him to continue back until he was on his knees. “We can’t.”

He got to his feet and backed up a step, half turning away. Couldn’t bear the sight of Damian lying in the dirt, shirt half open and hair disheveled, chest heaving from arousal and exertion. “…Jonathan?”

“You’re not _real_.” Jon almost whined, running his fingers through his hair.

“Is that so?” Damian scoffed. “Since when?”

“Since I know we haven’t been back to Kansas in like a year.” Jon sighed, turning back. “Since I just remembered you _broke up_ with me.”

“Absurd.” Damian laughed. Jon glared down at him, watched as Damian stood, and wiped the dust from his butt. “I would never do such a thing.”

“Well…you did!” Jon spat. “And over the phone! Not even in person!”

“You’re not listening to me.” Damian scolded. He raised his sharp gaze. _“I would never do such a thing.”_

“…What?” Jon whispered incredulously. “I just…I just told you that you did! And I…” He snorted, shook his head. “You’re not even real. Why the hell am I even trying to argue with you?”

“Because despite what you tell those around you, you _miss_ me.” Damian sauntered over to him with a smirk, and poked at his temple. “Now I need you to use that big brain of yours and focus on what I’m saying. What it _means_.”

Jon looked down sadly. Gently reached up to take Damian’s hand in his, and turned so he could kiss his palm, could hide his face against Damian’s hand.

Damian just smiled warmly, stepped closer into Jon’s space. Cupped his other hand around the side of Jon’s throat. “Please just remember.” He begged softly. “I would _never_ do such a thing. _Never_.” He leaned up on his toes, and pressed their foreheads together. “Not to you, Beloved.”

Jon leaned into the gesture, and parted his lips to kiss Damian again.

But then he woke up.

He woke up in the dead of night, with tears streaming down his face, and the memory of the dream burning against his skull.

_I would never do such a thing._

“But you did, Damian.” Jon sobbed, clutching his pillow, curling his knees to his chest. Because it felt like his heart was going to tumble out, all the pieces that it had shattered into were going to come spilling out onto his sheets. “You _did_.”

He didn’t go back to sleep.

~~

Jon let out a low growl as he stomped out of the café. That was a bust. That was a huge fucking waste of his time.

But that’s what he got for trying to jump back into the dating pool.

The girl seemed nice enough in their limited texting interaction. She was cute and not purposefully looked nothing like Damian. She was bubbly and loud, and also not purposefully _acted_ nothing like Damian either.

(Totally not purposefully. _Totally_.)

But he’d just spent the last hour listening to her rant about conspiracy theories that were already disproven one hundred times over, and rave about how Lex Luthor was the best and coolest and smartest person to ever exist, because he was rich and going to get them all to Mars. She never stopped to let Jon talk. Never stopped to take a breath for herself either.

Needless to say, there’d be no second date. He’d frankly excused himself with a lie to get out of this one early.

(And she’d already texted him about how great of a time she had, and she couldn’t wait to see him again, despite still sitting in the restaurant ten feet behind him.

Jon didn’t like to ghost people – not like certain ex-boyfriends of his – but this one…he couldn’t wait to.)

So it must have been fate that he chose that moment to leave. Not a few minutes before, or decided to suffer through the rest of his rendezvous. Because as soon as he walked out of the café, he spotted one Tim Drake coming out of the building across the street.

Funnily enough, Tim spotted him at almost the exact same moment. Except instead of waving or smiling like Tim normally would, his face visibly paled and his eyes widened, like Jon was the last person on Earth he wanted to see.

Jon frowned when he saw Tim glance around, like he was looking for an escape route. “Tim!” He called before the other could do just that, glancing up and down the street before jogging quickly towards him. “Hey, wait up!”

Tim took a step backwards, like he was going to try to bolt, but in the end stayed where he was, waited for Jon to reach him. Quickly pulled his phone out and scanned the screen before pocketing it again. “Hey Jon…what, uh. What’s going on? How are you?”

“Oh…been better. But trying to stay positive.” Jon laughed knowingly. Tim didn’t react. “How’s the family?”

“Good. Busy.” Tim shrugged. “Lots of, uh…stuff to do. You know how it is.”

Jon nodded, and the two fell into an awkward silence. Tim pulled his phone out again, but quickly threw it back in his pocket.

“How’s…” And Jon didn’t want to ask, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. Wasn’t desperate to actually _know_ , instead of guessing and assuming. “How’s Damian?”

But to Jon’s the surprise, at the sound of Damian’s name, Tim seemed to practically deflate. He threw his hands across his face, began shaking his head. “God, Jon, I’m so sorry. I know we should have called, or kept you in the loop or something. But we didn’t want you to become a target too or get hurt, or…”

“What?” Jon cut off, gut suddenly dropping. “What are you talking about?”

Tim peeked between his fingers, eyes narrowed. “…What are _you_ talking about?”

“I…I haven’t talked to Damian since he broke up with me.” Jon murmured. Tim’s eyes instantly widened even more in surprise. “I just…wanted to know if he was doing okay?”

“Damian broke up with you?” Tim whispered. “When?”

“Um, I don’t know a month or so ago?” Jon shrugged. “Why? Tim, what’s going on?”

“How did he break up with you?” Tim demanded, suddenly all but lunging at Jon. His eyes darted between Jon’s desperately. “Was it in person?”

“No, it was over the phone.”

“What day?” Tim asked, almost giddy now. “What day did he break up with you, exactly? What day did you get that call?”

“Uh…” Jon pulled out his phone, and went to the call feature. He scanned the list until he found the one he was looking for. The one that ruined his whole life. “The seventh.”

“What time?”

“Like three or four in the afternoon?” Jon huffed. “Tim, why is this relevant? What happened?”

“Have you talked to him since then?” Tim continued, undeterred. “In any way? Text? Call? Carrier pigeon?”

“What? No! I…I tried calling him a few times, to return his stuff and all that, but he never answered.” Tim suddenly backed away from him, running both hands through his hair, like a case was just blown wide open. For the third time, Jon asked: “Tim, what the _hell_ is going on?”

Tim hesitated for a moment, then looked Jon dead in the eyes. “Damian’s been missing for a month.” He said plainly. “He disappeared on the morning of the seventh.”

And just like that day on the phone, it felt like the world was being swallowed into a black hole beneath him. That the universe was disappearing around him, that it wasn’t real.

He could barely breath. “…What?”

“He, Duke and Cass were on a case in France. Without warning all three of them went radio silent. When we got there, we only found Duke and Cass half dead in a vineyard. They said they were attacked by a…a shapeshifter or something, lured them in by transforming into members of the Justice League. That they saw the shapeshifter and their crew dragging Damian away, but they didn’t see where to, or even what direction.”

Jon’s head was spinning.

“We’ve been looking for him day and night ever since. And when you didn’t come looking for him…” Tim winced. “We assumed he’d told you that he would be away on a mission, potentially for a long time. So your absence didn’t concern us. In fact, like I said, we were grateful. We didn’t want you getting wrapped up in this too, and potentially hurt.”

Jon was barely listening anymore, too wrapped up in what he’d just been told. That Damian had been missing since that day. That the reason Damian’s heartbeat sounded so far away was because he _was_ , he was somewhere in Europe. That he wasn’t answering his phone because he was being held captive.

…That it wasn’t Damian on that call.

_I would never do such a thing. Never. Not to you._

“…Beloved.” He murmured. Tim instantly stopped in his ramblings.

“…What?” Tim asked.

“On the call, when he broke up with me. First, he never gave a reason, which I thought was crazy. I guess…I guess it makes sense now.” Jon said thoughtfully. “But before we hung up. He said ‘I’m sorry, Beloved.’”

“…So?”

“That’s what Damian had me as in his phone. Not my name.” Jon explained. “Why would he still call me Beloved if he was breaking up with me?”

“…He would have said your name.” Tim said, the truth dawning on him. “The kidnapper wouldn’t know that. They wouldn’t know your name. So they called you what you were _listed_ as.”

“And recognized that I was someone important to him.” Jon finished. “But…why? Why call me just to…break up with me? Why call me at all?”

“I don’t know. We can think about it later.” Tim was instantly back in detective mode, holding out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Because we can track where that phone call came from.” Tim wiggled his fingers impatiently. With his other hand, he pulled out his own phone, typing furiously with his thumb. Jon realized that’s why he was checking it so much, that’s why he was in Metropolis at all. He was looking for clues for Damian, anywhere he could. “And that might take us to where this bastard took my brother.”

“...Need a ride to the Batcave?” Jon asked with a sheepish smile. “…The sooner we get there, the sooner we can track this fucker and find Damian.”

Tim pursed his lips in thought, clearly not thrilled at the idea of including Jon, not after they all tried so hard to keep him detached, but eventually returned the grin.

“Get us in the air, Superman.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there was one thing the world needed to learn, it was that you don’t hurt those Jonathan Kent loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just basic smoop sprinkled with angst. Bruce gave Cass and Duke special permission to be extra rough on those who kidnapped Damian/hurt them in the first place. Jon and Damian wake up to Bruce on the chair and like half the fam sleeping on the end of the bed. Damian gets so mad at them. Let him sleep with his boyfriend in peace, dammit! Jon ends up now never leaving the bed and basically becomes Damian’s personal pillow as his recovery continues.

That call. That was all they needed, it turned out. The call that shattered Jon’s whole world was the one thing that might help piece it back together.

Even though it’d been over a month, the Bat-tech was able to hone in on the signal easily, and they were in the air and on their way back to France within three hours of Jon and Tim’s arrival to the Batcave.

Bruce wasn’t thrilled. He’d told Jon to go home at least seven times, that they’d contact him when Damian was safe. But at this point, Jon couldn’t believe that, not when they didn’t tell him he was missing in the first place.

He was even less thrilled when Jon grabbed the Justice League communicator out of his hand and smashed it, when Bruce said he was going to call Clark to take him back to Metropolis.

“I’m not _ten_ anymore, Bruce.” Jon reminded with a dark giddiness as he dropped the shattered pieces onto the table. “And Damian is _my_ boyfriend.”

“Is he still?” Jason quipped from nearby, hooking guns to his holsters. Tim had caught them all up with Jon’s side of things. “I mean…you just spent the last month thinking you were broken up and getting over him, right?”

“As part of the family that went to Apokolips to collect his dead body and resurrect him, I don’t think I have to tell you, Jason.” Jon grinned widely. “You don’t just _get over_ Damian Wayne.”

Jason thought a moment, then snorted a laugh and clapped a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Okay. I get why he fell in love with Boy Scout Jr. now.” He chuckled.

“…For what it’s worth.” Jon added sheepishly, though, as Jason moved away, and Cassandra and Stephanie approached, moving towards their jet. “…Even if the breakup _was_ real, I…I still wasn’t coping very well with it.”

The women both just smiled knowingly, and Steph jumped up to ruffle at his hair. And for a moment, Jon remembered that, for as much as he missed Damian the last month, he missed seeing the other Bats almost as much.

Bruce grumbled the rest of the time they spent gathering supplies and weapons about how Jon shouldn’t be there, and he didn’t want him nor his help. It was eventually Dick and Duke who took Bruce to the side and had him see the light. Begrudgingly allow Jon to come along.

“On one condition.” Bruce demanded, stomping up to him near the jet’s door. It’d already been decided that Jon would fly alongside the plane. “ _You_ do not engage. This is still an open investigation, and I don’t need you accidentally destroying any evidence.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m only there for Damian anyway.” Jon returned just as gruffly. “You guys be offense, I’ll be defense and extraction. No problem.”

Bruce glared at him for a moment more before raising his cowl and disappearing into the ship. Dick sighed from nearby, following after.

“He’s just worried.” He promised. “About you _and_ Damian. And after already losing Damian like this, the thought of what might happen to you, he…”

Dick trailed off, and Jon was suddenly reminded that he was a lot closer to fifty than thirty these days, and had already lost a lot. Had already lost Damian a lot. And, clearly, it never got easier. Not for Dick or Bruce, or anyone in their family.

“…He’s still alive, Dick.” Jon whispered with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “I can still hear his heartbeat. He’s still here, just…waiting for us.”

Dick nodded absently, before he met Jon’s gaze and let his mask of cautious hope fall across his face. “Then let’s go get him, Jonno.”

The flight was long. _Too_ long. And even alone outside the ship, Jon listened through the communicator as the Bats planned their attack, outlined the known schematics of the compound that they found, and any potential hidden areas they might have missed.

At least every ten minutes, Bruce was reminding Jon that he was to not get involved. That he was there for Damian’s defense and safety only.

Jon only rolled his eyes, muttered an exasperated, “Yes, sir.” And focus on the heartbeat that got closer every second.

(Closer…and slower. But he didn’t share that part with the rest of the rescue party.)

The compound wasn’t far from where Duke and Cassandra had been beaten and abandoned, but the reason they couldn’t find it afterwards was because it was underground, and seemingly cloaked with tech none of them had ever seen before.

“Alien?” Duke had asked as they neared it.

“Or bankrolled by some selfish rich fuck.” Jason countered. “We’ll find out if Bruce Wayne does a hostile takeover of any companies here in the next week or so, I bet.”

“Hm.” Bruce grunted. But it wasn’t a no, so they all shared one last pre-battle laugh anyway.

They circled the area for a moment, doing some last minute recognizance. “I hear at least twenty-five heartbeats besides Damian’s, Batman.” Jon called. He flicked to his x-ray vision. “And they’re spread between what looks like two rooms.”

“Evenly?” Tim asked.

“Mmm, it doesn’t look like it.” Jon decided. “Looks like a 70-30 split.”

“Damian?” Cassandra asked softly.

“Can’t tell for sure.” Jon scanned the space again, just in case. “One body looks like it could be him, and it’s in the room with less people.”

“Remember, Superman-” Bruce started, but Jon, suddenly out of patience, cut him off.

“I’m defense. You’re offense. I’m there to get Damian out and that’s it.” He rolled his eyes. “I _know_ , Batman.” He curled his hands into fists. “Now are we just going to hover up here all day or are we finally going to go _get_ him?”

There was a moment of silence. Then Bruce calmly, emotionlessly, stoically announced:

“On my mark.”

For as grouchy, bossy, and by-the-book Batman always acted – he was still just a big kid with big toys. And his mark wasn’t a word, but an action. And that action was turning the nose of the jet towards the ground, so he could crash land into the underground bunker of the freaks who’d kidnapped his son.

Jon grinned, and suddenly remembered why Batman was a lot of people’s favorite superhero.

He stayed off to the ship’s side, just in case. In case Bruce actually lost control of the ship, if any of the other Bats ended up hurt in the process. So he listened as the nose slammed into the earth for any screams of pain.

But all he heard was the screeching of metal, and the crashing of ceiling materials as the jet lodged itself into the roof of the compound. There were screams _now_ , of surprise from the building’s inhabitants, and shouts for some to grab weapons.

One last shout from Stephanie as Bruce opened the cockpit, and the Bats began to file out like ants. “Oh _fuck_ yeah, was that fun!”

Everyone was fine. Everyone was safe.

So time to do his job and find the one that wasn’t.

He dove through the lingering smoke, dodging bodies being thrown by the mini-army of vigilantes that had just arrived. Dodged weapons from the incoming henchmen as they raced into the room to help their colleagues.

Jon didn’t pay them much mind other than to notice that their clothing was a little off. There wasn’t any body armor or helmets. Just dark maroon robes, sashed belts. They almost looked like priests.

You know, if they weren’t running at him with guns and knives and…was that one carrying an unlidded jar of acid?

He didn’t care. The Bats could handle them.

He tried to remember what he saw with his x-ray vision as he weaved through the halls. Bruce had crashed into the room with the most people, so that stood to reason that the pseudo-priests Jon had seen were coming from the room with less people. The smaller room, the room where he thought Damian was.

Well, if those priests came from where Damian was, that was even less people to take out than he was originally planning.

He let Damian’s heartbeat guide him. And for a moment, he remembered when he listened for it after the ‘breakup.’ How he thought the slowness of it meant Damian was calm, relaxed.

God, how could he be so stupid? It didn’t mean he was calm. It meant he was fucking _dying_. How could Jon be so dense? How could he not _notice_?

He reached a closed door and could hear panicked voices behind it, could hear Damian’s heartbeat at the loudest it’d been so far.

The door didn’t stand a goddamn chance.

He recognized that Damian wasn’t near it, so kicked the door as hard as he could without a care. It practically disintegrated under the heel of his boot. He heard the other people in the room scream as they were showered with splinters but didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything else right now.

He let his heat vision take over his vision as he stepped into the room. There were three people in here, each holding crude weapons – a stick, a shattered bottle and a chair.

“Leave.” Jon ordered. The people cowered only slightly, but stood their ground. And Jon didn’t have time for that. “Or I’ll make you.”

They gave it one last moment to try and be brave, and any other time Jon might commend them for it. Try to talk them down, be more like his dad.

But this wasn’t any other time.

So he turned to the chair and used his heat vision to turn it to ash.

And that was enough. The other two dropped their weapons and held up their hands. Jon shifted out of the doorframe and watched them as they ran for safety.

He stared after them until they turned a corner, going away from the sanctuary Bruce and the others were in, a bonus of course, though he knew the Bats could have handled them. Then he quickly turned back, scanning the room.

It wasn’t a jail cell, or a dungeon. Just an empty, ugly, dark room. There was a table in the corner, and a TV that showed the field outside, acting almost like a window.

There was a closed curtain in the corner, that clearly hid an alcove of some sort. Damian’s heartbeat was coming from there.

Jon doesn’t know how he crossed the room. One second he was by the door, and the next he was at the curtain, slowly pulling it back. Did he float? Did he run? He didn’t know.

“Damian?” He whispered as he tugged the sheet away. “Can you hear…?”

The question died on his lips at the sight in front of him. It was Damian all right, half naked and huddled against the corner of this makeshift pantry. He was thin, _so_ thin, like he hadn’t eaten in the month since he’d been taken. His hair was longer, past his ears, and dirty. The grease shone in the dim light.

There were bruises and cuts all over his body, some of them looked infected. His eyes were black and swollen, his lip split in multiple places. Dried blood caked along his nostrils.

But that might not have even been the worst part.

Though, really, was there just one single worst part? Were the heavy chains around Damian’s neck, wrists and ankles that latched him to the wall the worst part? Or was it the barrage of needle marks that twisted up his inner arms all the way up to his jaw?

Jon’s eyes filled with tears. But not from pain, like they usually did. Not from hurt or emotions.

From utter, blinding fury.

They did this to him. Those _fucking_ fake priests that he’d just showed mercy to did this to him. To Damian. To the _love of his fucking life._

He’d kill them. He’d go snap all their necks right now. Break every bone in each of their bodies and let them die slowly and painfully. Then burn them into ash and throw their remains in a dumpster.

He even felt himself take a step back, to do just that. But stopped when he heard Damian let out a wheezing exhale.

“Damian?” He asked again. Damian had never answered the first time. Was he even conscious? Was he aware of what was happening? He took the last few steps forward and kneeled, putting a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “D, can you hear me?”

Damian tensed at his touch and tried to jerk away, but just ended up bouncing his shoulder painfully against the stone wall behind him. When he looked up, his eyes looked almost feral, but them immediately softened as recognition took hold.

He blinked once. Twice. “…Jonathan?”

Jon swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded with a sad smile.

“What are you doing here?” Damian asked, even as Jon shifted his hand from Damian’s shoulder to his face. Damian’s skin was cold. “They…” Damian’s eyes were suddenly angry. “If they’ve laid a hand on you, I _swear_ I’ll-”

“Nothing of the sort.” Jon promised. “We’re here to get you out of here. Take you home.”

Damian blinked and slumped back. “ _We_?”

  
“Your family.” Jon explained vaguely as he let his hand fall, run gently over a scab along Damian’s chest. “God, I’m so glad I found you.”

“…I’m sorry.” Damian murmured, and Jon looked up at him in confusion. “I…I lost track of the days some time ago, but you must have been worried sick. I’m sorry for causing you any distress.”

Jon’s stomach twirled in guilt. Because he wasn’t worried, not at all. And was now the time to say that? To say _‘Oh, no, I wasn’t worried, because it turns out the psychopaths who kidnapped you pretended to be you and broke up with me.’_?

No. No it absolutely fucking wasn’t.

“…Nothing is your fault.” Jon decided on. He reached forward and grabbed the collar around Damian’s neck, snapping it with a quick jerk of his hands. He followed suite with the chains around his arms and legs too. “Can you walk? Your family is taking care of the others, my only job is to get you safe.”

“…I don’t know.” Damian hummed honestly, eyes fluttering slightly. “And I don’t know if my body is strong enough to try right now.”

Jon looked back up at him with another smile. Less sad this time, more genuine. Let it reach his eyes. “No problem.” He returned his hand to Damian’s face, gently pushed his long hair out of the way. Without thinking, he leaned forward and kissed Damian as gently as he could, then pressed their foreheads together. “Jesus, I’m just…just so glad you’re _alive_.”

Damian scoffed a quiet laugh, and opened his mouth to retort, but suddenly there was a noise from the room behind them. They both looked back to see Batman storming in through the door.

“Superboy?” He asked as he stopped, glanced around Jon. “We…all good here? You found him?”

Jon squeezed Damian’s face just slightly before standing and turning back. “Yes, sir. Alive and well.”

Bruce nodded. “And the rest are taken care of. So let’s get the hell out of here.”

Jon nodded. “Can you help me get him up? I don’t think he can walk real well right now.”

Bruce seemed to hesitate, glancing past Jon’s shoulder again, but nodded, and took a step towards him.

And as soon as he was close, Jon grabbed the side of his head and slammed it through the closest wall.

“…That’s twice now you’ve gotten my name wrong.” Jon spit, looming over the man as he groaned in pain. “And that’s twice you’ve done a piss poor imitation of someone I care about.”

Batman looked up at Jon in confusion, borderline hurt. But then the eyes widened in realization, and instantly shifted from Bruce’s icy blue to a sickly yellow. “ _You_.”

“Me.” Jon grinned wildly. “And I’ll admit it – you got me the first time. Because I had no idea what had happened, so of course, why wouldn’t I believe the phone call I was getting?”

Batman began to shift now, lose his muscle mass, his uniform began to change to a deep maroon.

“But then I was told the truth, and all the clues that didn’t make sense before suddenly began to piece together.” Jon hummed, picking the man up by his collar. He was much smaller than Bruce. Much thinner. Much older. “So when they said they were coming to kick your ass, I knew there was nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He slammed the man into the wall again, but held him there. Used his other hand to grab the man’s throat.

“Why.” He hissed. “Tell me _why_.”

The man choked slightly, feet scrabbling for floor, hands grabbing at Jon’s. “Lazarus.” He wheezed. “He…he carries the waters of _Lazarus_ in his blood. I saw it in his eyes. The _green_ of his eyes. In the field. I knew.” A cough. “I knew it was fate that we found him. He was the one who was going to make us _immortal_.”

Jon’s eyes widened. The needle marks. The acid the other man was carrying from this room. Experiments, no doubt. To get the magical Lazarus waters out of Damian’s blood that they believed was there.

But Damian was stubborn, and probably put up a fight. So they beat him into submission, tortured him, stabbed him with needles to drain him dry. But they couldn’t kill him, oh no. Because if Damian died they’d lose their chance at the power of the Lazarus Pit.

They were using him, like he was no more than a _thing_.

Jon’s nostrils flared. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you bastard.”

“…Beloved.” Damian whispered, and Jon found himself turning towards him without thinking. Damian looked tired, still slumped against that wall, head leaning against the stone. “Don’t.” He closed his eyes. “Just…leave him for Batman.”

Batman’s demands came rushing back. They were offense. Jon was defense.

Jon’s _only_ job was to get Damian _safe_.

Silently, Jon nodded, but instead of dropping the man, gave himself one last piece of revenge, and threw the man across the room into the table and fake-window TV. The man gave a low moan, and it sounded like music to Jon’s ears as he walked back over to Damian, and gathered him into his arms.

Damian didn’t complain about being held, didn’t complain about being coddled. Just wrapped an arm around Jon’s neck and leaned against his shoulder.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and Jon just kissed his forehead, trying to ignore the mere fact of how much pain Damian must have been in. How exhausted.

But as he crossed the room, he stopped near the door, just once, and turned to the man.

He didn’t care who he was. What his name was. But he did care about one thing.

“Why did you call me?”

The man didn’t uncurl from his fetal position, didn’t even open his eyes. “Because we knew you would come for him.” He hissed. “The lovers always do.”

Jon blinked, and watched the man for a moment, before turning and walking out of the room, Damian a calming weight in his arms.

~~

It was a cult in that underground bunker, Jon learned later. One obsessed with becoming immortal so they could be gods. They’d kidnapped, tortured and killed at least ten people over the years before they took Damian, all for the same reason.

Jon honestly couldn’t care less.

After escaping the compound, Jon flew to a previously agreed upon spot in Geneva, where Batman had a safe house that Alfred had flown ahead to. He radioed onto the open line as he did so, and Duke, mid-battle, shouted an affirmative, and promise that they’d meet him there.

Damian could barely hold onto consciousness during the flight, and it only made Jon fly faster, to an almost dangerous speed.

Alfred met them on the balcony, and motioned for Jon to follow him after he landed. A penthouse in Geneva wasn’t exactly a hospital, so instead of a medical cot, Jon carefully laid Damian in an extravagant king-sized bed.

Jon helped where he could, which, admittedly, wasn’t in very many places. The thing he was best at, he found, was getting in the way. But, bless him, Alfred never chastised him. Never told him to move.

“This is almost a luxury.” Alfred had quipped at one point as he checked Damian’s IV bag. “Normally I’m trying to work around at least five anxious persons, not one calm one.”

Jon had tried to smile, but it didn’t come out right. Alfred seemed to understand, though, and just gave Jon’s shoulder a quick squeeze as he passed him.

Finally, Alfred proclaimed himself finished, having done all he could. He’d disinfected and wrapped wounds, given Damian painkillers and set up the IVs to replenish Damian’s fluids. The rest of his healing would come in time. For now, he’d be in the kitchen fixing Damian something gentle to eat, before preparing food for the rest of the rescue party’s eventual arrival.

Jon nodded, and sat at Damian’s bedside.

It was almost midnight by the time the rest of the Bats arrived. They explained to Jon and Alfred their investigation, and what the cult had told them. Got checked out by Alfred, came and checked on Damian, and then one by one, they each went off to another room to settle down for the rest of the night.

Jon remained at Damian’s side.

And he didn’t move. Not to sleep, he just laid his head on the mattress. Not to eat breakfast or any meal, just balanced it on his lap. He didn’t even get up to offer his seat when anyone came in to visit their brother.

He just sat there, staring at Damian’s battered face and holding his cold hand.

Damian didn’t wake up that day, or even the day after. He could tell the others were starting to get antsy about it, and agitated. What if Damian didn’t wake up? What if that cult had actually killed him, and he’d survived just long enough to see them all again? To get taken to safety?

So the Bats threw themselves into the investigation to distract themselves. Who was cult? Who funded them? Who had they killed?

Jon just stayed on his stool at Damian’s side.

It was the morning of the third day, some time before dawn. Jon had his head pillowed against his arm on the mattress next to Damian’s elbow, half turned to watch the moon reflect off the clouds through the balcony doors.

He listened as Damian inhaled, but paid it no mind. Not until: “…What are you doing?”

Jon sat up so fast he made himself dizzy. In the dim light, Damian’s half-lidded sea foam eyes almost glowed.

“W-what?”

“What are you _doing_?” Damian repeated groggily.

“I…I couldn’t sleep, so I was just watching the stars…” He started, but trailed off when Damian lazily waved a hand.

“I mean, why are you sitting on that stool?” Damian asked. He flopped his hand out to the open side of the bed. “There’s clearly space here. Even if you can’t sleep, at least let yourself be comfortable.”

Jon instantly dropped his gaze to his knees, and even half conscious, Damian noticed.

“Beloved, what’s wrong?” He asked sleepily, weakly reaching his hand towards Jon.

Jon pulled his hand away.

This time, Damian’s inhale was sharp. He pulled his hand back and dropped it onto his own stomach. “…Alright.”

“No, it’s not…!” Jon suddenly realized how that looked. Knew how Damian would take it. “I don’t…You didn’t…” He sighed, dropped his face into his hands. “I don’t deserve it.”

“What?” Damian asked. “Deserve what?”

“To hold your hand. To lay in your bed.” Jon groaned. “ _You_.”

Damian hesitated, grunted softly as he shifted. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“The day you went missing, they…that shapeshifter guy, he stole your phone and he called me. As _you_.” Jon closed his eyes, trying to hide even further. “He…he broke up with me as you. And I…it didn’t make any sense, it _never_ made any sense to me, but I _believed_ him.”

Another moment of quiet. “…Oh.”

“I know. I’m an idiot.” Jon lamented. “Because how could I not know my own boyfriend? How could I believe you would break up with me over the phone?”

“Or…ever.” Damian agreed. “Unless you want…”

“Or ever!” Jon cut off dramatically, curling his covered face to his knees. “How could I believe you’d do that, and not question it! Not question that you never answered your phone after that, never told anyone, never came back to Metropolis for any reason! Even dream you tried to tell me and I just…”

“Dream me?” Damian asked. Suddenly there were fingers stroking at Jon’s hair, and he held his breath. “You _dreamed_ about me?”

“I thought about you every second of every day.” Jon admitted glumly. “I felt like such a loser, not being able to get over you.” He paused, curled into himself more. “For believing it all in the first place.” He shook his head. “I don’t even deserve to be sitting here next to you, Damian. I _don’t_.”

He felt Damian’s fingers stroke for a few more seconds, then heard Damian scoff a laugh.

“Jonathan, you’re so funny.”

Those fingers in his hair were instantly at his chin, tilting his face up and out of his hands. Damian, looking beyond exhausted, was smiling at him.

“Come lay with me.” Damian asked softly.

Jon stared up at him for a moment, let his eyes wander down the bandages and new scars, then back up. “You shouldn’t want me to.” He breathed. “In fact, you should break up with me for _real_ , because I’m such a _fucking_ -”

“Do you want me to?” Damian asked seriously. “Do you want me to break up with you? Would you like us to remain apart? Because if after this past month that’s what you’ve decided is best for _you_ , then I will do _my_ best to give it to-”

“No.” Jon said instantly. “No, I…” His breath trembled. “No, I don’t want us to be apart anymore.”

“Nor do I.” Damian agreed with a gentle smile. He laid his arm across the bed. “…Please.”

Jon stared at him for a moment, then sighed and stood, carefully floating over Damian to drop onto his other side.

Damian weakly reached up to pull Jon into his arms, like a child grabbing for a balloon, and Jon let himself be dragged into Damian’s side. Latched onto Damian’s waist and hid his face against Damian’s chest.

His heartbeat was loud now. Still slow, a little too slow for Jon’s liking, but loud, and right under Jon’s ear, right where it was supposed to be.

“I’m sorry.” Jon whispered, as he felt Damian kiss at his hair, gently run his fingers along Jon’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Damian.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should apologize to you, for what that shifting bastard did.” Damian hummed, and already Jon could sense he was falling back into unconsciousness.

 _Because he feels safe_ , Jon didn’t let himself think. _He feels safe here with me_.

“…I love you.” Jon breathed, closing his eyes, squeezing Damian as tightly as he dared. “I love you so much, Damian.”

“I love you as well, Jonathan.” Damian answered just as softly. “For as long as I live. No matter what anyone tells you, please always remember that.” He carefully laid his hand over the one Jon had on his hip. “…Thank you for finding me. For saving me.”

“Always.” Jon smiled, looking up at Damian. Damian’s eyes were already closed once more, his breathing evening out. “Always and forever.”

“Forever and ever.” Damian mumbled as he drifted off. Jon watched him for a few more moments, until he was sure Damian was asleep again. Then he leaned up and left a careful kiss to Damian’s cheek. Lingered for a moment, then curled up under Damian’s chin, clung to him like he was a giant teddy bear.

He let his boyfriend’s heartbeat lull him to sleep.


End file.
